


Dean - 23, 8 months, 9 Days

by phantisma



Series: Ages [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-05
Updated: 2006-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:31:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Dean's POV.  When Dean is 23 years and 8 months(or so), He is trying to cope with the world without meds, and with the returned memories of two years he gave away in a deal with a demon...Memories of Sam's betrayal, of Sam's first sexual advances...and the subsequent behavior that led to sex with his father...and he isn't exactly handling it well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean - 23, 8 months, 9 Days

He was twenty three years, 8 months and 9 days old when he really started to understand. It was just shy of two months from the day he had stepped into his old apartment, dropped his reality on the couch and gave in…gave up…stopped running.

He scribbled the address in the dark, because the light hurt too damn much the last few days. He knew it. Could see it as clearly as if he were standing in the driveway. Forget that the address was for a house four states away. Forget it wasn’t possible…couldn’t be real…forget that he never wanted any of it.

He didn’t look up when his father came into the kitchen for coffee, fresh from a shower and shave. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done either. Dean pushed the paper across the table and took a drag off the cigarette in his hands. He had smoked before, another coping mechanism he’d abandoned a few years before.

“What’s this?” John asked.

“Address. Hunt.” Dean replied as if the words were painful.

“What is it?”

Dean shrugged and sat back in the chair. “Little girl getting hurt. Little boy possessed. Isn’t pretty.”

John sighed and nodded, slipping the paper in his pocket. “I’ll leave in a few hours.”

Dean nodded and hugged his coffee cup to him. Didn’t look at his father. Couldn’t look at his father. Not with the memory stirring in his head every time.

“How long since you’ve slept?” John asked, sliding into the chair opposite his son. Still Dean didn’t look up. “You look like shit.”

Dean grimaced…ran a hand over his face. “Can’t sleep. Dreams.” Dean said. He couldn’t close his eyes.

“I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone.”

Dean snorted, his eyes darting to the corners of the room. He only wished he were alone. “Fat chance of that,” he muttered.

“Dean, I—“

He stopped him with an upraised hand. “Don’t, Dad. I’m…okay. I just…need…”

“To adjust, I know. That’s what you’ve been saying for days Dean, and look at you. You won’t talk to us, you’re not eating, you haven’t slept in I don’t know how long. What can’t you tell us? Was it…that bad?”

Dean’s eyes snapped up for the first time, meeting his father’s with a rage that made the elder Winchester wince. “Bad? I made a fucking deal with a fucking demon to take away two whole fucking years of my life Dad. How bad do you think things have to get to go there?”

“Pretty bad.” John admitted, keeping the eye contact. “Reuel said he’d take it back, if you couldn’t handle it.”

Dean stared for a long moment, then blinked and deflated. “No. I can. I just…I’m not sure what scares me more right now, Dad…the thing in the corner you can’t see…the fact that I can see it…or the fact that I am probably delusional.” He drank his coffee, making a face as its cold, acidic taste filled his mouth.

He got up to refill the cup, stopping behind his father. “What is it you want me to tell you, Dad?” he asked softly. He wouldn’t tell him, couldn’t tell him....

“Why don’t you start by telling me why you’re so angry with me?” Sam said from the doorway.

Dean’s eyes closed. “No, Sam. Go away. Stay out of this.”

“No.” Sam moved two steps into the kitchen, looming over Dean. “No. I’ve been here, right here. I need to know, Dean.”

Dean turned back toward his father. “Go back to Stanford Sam. Let me…figure this out…let me…”

Sam’s hands closed over his shoulders and turned him around. “Not until you tell me what I did to make you hate me.”

The rage built faster than Dean could control it and the cupboards started rattling. His coffee cup shattered and Sam let go of him. Dean tossed the remaining shards to the floor and stalked toward Sam.

“You want me to tell you Sammy? You want to see?” Dean reached for him, vaguely aware of his father trying to pull him off and pushing him away. “Fine.”

Dean’s hands settled on either side of Sam’s face and images and words and fury flew out of him. Sam sagged against the wall, held in place only by Dean’s hands as he showed him the tearful confession in the motel room…how he told Dean he had known all along, how he’d known and still made Dean believe he was delusional, insane…all the self doubt, the fear, the slow decline. He didn’t spare him anything, not the pain of the withdrawal, not the shame of his weakness, of his pathetic need for Sam…anything to keep Sam…his utter trust in his brother and how Sam’s betrayal had cut him, stolen away the only balance he’d ever known…what that betrayal had driven him to do, the cutting, the way he turned to his father…his _father_ …He felt Sam stiffen, then slowly collapse…his eyes wide as he slid down the wall.

Dean was shaking as he backed away. “At least you told me to my face that time, Sam.” He said as he pulled himself back together. “Not in some fucking note you left on the back seat of the fucking car on your great escape away from me…from what you made me to be.”

“Dean, I—“

Dean turned his back and shook his head. “Just get the fuck out, Sam. Go to school. Give me some space.” Wearily, Dean poured another cup of coffee in a new mug and shuffled back to the table. John stood between them, looking from Sam’s tear stained face to Dean’s dark and angry one.

After a long moment, Sam pulled himself off the floor, brushing off John’s hand and shaking his head. “I’ll go, Dean…if that’s what you want. I know I’ve done some pretty horrible things to you, and if you want to hate me…fine…go ahead.”

Dean didn’t look up, didn’t move, even as Sam leaned over the table. “I just want you to know that I love you…have always loved you…and I am so….sorry I ever hurt you.” His words were thick with tears and emotion that wafted off of him and over Dean, washing away at the rage and fear.

He left, Dean could feel him, moving through the apartment to gather his things, speaking softly to John who followed him. He could almost feel the paper in his hands…the note…the long confession…written in haste to sooth a conscience wracked with guilt. He’d found it two days after Sam left for school that first time. Read it. Retched on the ground beside the Impala. Fed it down the garbage disposal and blacked out the entire thing.

The front door opened and closed and then John was back in the kitchen. “That wasn’t a very nice thing you just did to your brother.”

“Fuck you.” Dean swallowed his coffee and reached for his cigarettes, only to find John had swiped them off the table.

“You listen to me, young man. Your brother loves you and he’s done everything he could to atone for what he did as a scared little kid. It was a shit thing. It was. But fuck Dean he was just a boy. He was scared.”

“He was a kid and he was scared, but he isn’t now. He hasn’t been for years. He knew…fucking knew Dad…since before Cassie. He never once defended me. He never once told me what he knew. He lied and cajoled and made me afraid of myself. Do you know what that’s like?” Dean stood, pushing the chair back and stalking past him. He could feel Sam rubbing up against him in the bed…could taste him on his tongue, the flush of anguish…of knowing that it had all begun as a way to control him, to fuck him up until Sam was everything he needed. His father’s hand on his back startled him and he jumped away.

“Jesus Dean! Will you let me fucking help you?”

Dean shook his head, tears rolling freely down his face now. “Like before? You willing to do anything to make the pain stop, eh Dad? That’s what you said to me before. That’s—“ Dean staggered against the wall, eyes closed as he felt John’s fingers pressing into a fresh wound on his thigh…felt John’s body pressing against his. “Fuck!”

“Dean…please. Tell me.”

Dean bent over as it washed through him, plucking John’s knife from his boot. “Want to know, Daddy? Want to?” He pressed the knife into his father’s hand and held it, moved it over his thigh. He pressed in close so their bodies were touching, shoving John against the wall now, their hands and the knife just touching Dean’s thigh below his boxers. “You told me anything…you said you would do it…said you would cut me if I needed it.”

John froze, his eyes on Dean’s, his breathing shallow. “Do you Dean? Do you need it?” he asked breathlessly and Dean pushed down a little harder on the blade.

John nodded and pushed it himself, startling Dean. The blade bit into flesh and John pulled it off to the side, leaving a four inch cut that welled instantly with blood. “Does that fucking fix it, Dean?”

Dean’s eyes rolled closed and he staggered backwards, letting go of the knife and turning away. It felt so good…so fucking good and Dean was hard and wanting and he held up his hand when he felt his father move. “I’m sorry.” Dean said. “Just…I’m sorry…”

“Dean…god…I…Let me take a look.”

Dean shook his head. “I’ve had worse. It’ll be fine.” _Not going there. Not letting him close enough to know._ “I think you should head out to that hunt though. Let me shower…get some sleep. We can talk when you come back.”

“You promise me you’ll sleep?”

Dean nodded, but didn’t look up. “Yeah, okay. But I’ll be back in a few days.”

It flooded out of him, the fury, the need…and he was left only with the feeling of his father’s hand, his father’s knife slicing through his skin. John was gone. Sam was gone. Dean was…not alone, but more than he’d been in a while. The silence ate at him until he licked his lips and staggered to the bathroom. He needed to get out of the apartment…but first…a shower, shave. Sleep would be good, but he couldn’t pretend that he would, not well anyway.

He stood under the spray until the water ran cold, longer…hoping it would help dim the rampaging desire that filled him with shame. The thing with Sam was bad…wrong…fucked up, but to feel that when his father’s blade cut into him…Dean shivered in the cold and finally turned the water off.

Dressing was harder than it should have been. He’d lost enough weight that nearly everything hung off him. He finally settled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that had once been fairly snug on him. Shaving was harder too because he couldn’t stop the shaking in his hands. After several nicks, he finally considered the whole thing close enough and ran a hand through hair that was starting to rival Sam’s.

He wouldn’t look himself in the eye as he finished, afraid of what he would see there. Shrugging into his jacket, Dean grabbed his keys and left the apartment, without Sam for company for the first time in months.

He didn’t have a clue where he would go. It felt strange. The air tasted different somehow. He breathed in deeply and looked around him. The sky seemed lighter, and for some reason the light didn’t hurt his head. The sun felt warm on his skin, comforting, solid. He couldn’t place the differences, not until he settled into the seat of the Impala, warm leather, solid metal. Solid. Everything felt real.

Outside of Kaitlyn and Sam, nothing had been real before…it was how he coped with everything, because nothing was permanent, nothing could get through the cocoon the meds had weaved around him.

The pocket of his jacket vibrated and he pulled out his cell phone. “Hey, Kate.” He smiled at the sound of her voice. “I’m…okay. Did he? No, it’s okay. I’ll be home tonight. I’ve got a few things I need to do first.” Her voice made him ache. She was the center of his reality, even now, drugs or no drugs, visions or no. “I love you.”

 

How he found himself in _that_ doorway, he wasn’t sure. Tony Pagliani lay like the dead, kept alive only by machines that pumped air into him and fed him and made sure his heart was still working.

He had done this to Tony. In a moment of panic, with a gift he had no idea how to control…or if he even fully believed in…he’d flipped a switch in the big man’s brain and shut it down. Just as he had once done to his foster-father. Dean moved into the room and pulled a chair close to the bed.

If he did nothing, Tony would die. There was no denying that. Dean ran a finger over the big hand that had so often caused him pain…never without Dean asking for it first…never without offering release, pleasure. It wasn’t Tony’s fault he’d been possessed…or that Dean’s gifts manifested to keep them safe. The demon was gone, and Tony would forever be changed…just as Dean would. “I almost wish you were here…that we could…” Dean’s voice trailed off, it was too much…wanting that, knowing what he had done.

With a deep breath, Dean laid his hand flat atop Tony’s bigger one and reached out, flipping the switch just as easily as if it were something he could physically touch. Tears streamed down his face. He could feel Tony’s body respond. It would be hours before he woke…weeks before he was strong enough to be completely free of the machines and tubes. “I never wanted this,” he whispered through his tears.

“No, but are responsible for it none-the-less.” It was Jenny’s voice, with the inflection of Reuel. Dean didn’t look up, his fingers stroking over the hand under his. “You aren’t responsible for him, however.”

“No? And what about Sam? Dad? Jenny? Am I not responsible for them?”

“You are responsible for you Dean. You can’t bear the blame for what the others say or do.”

Dean didn’t agree…couldn’t agree…not when he’d been the cause of so much… “I don’t know how to deal with this.” Dean said softly. “It hurts and all I do is hurt everyone around me.”

Her hand was on his shoulder. “I can—“

Dean shook his head. “It won’t change it. I’ll still…know somehow…it still affects who I am.”

He could feel the smile. “You are getting wise, Dean.”

“No…just listening to…Hell, I don’t know.”

“Trust those instincts Dean.”

“What if I don’t want…” He closed his eyes and swallowed. “What if I don’t want….this?”

“What this, Dean?”

He leaned back against her, his head against her stomach. “It’s too much power for a person…for me…what if I don’t want it?”

“That is always your choice, Dean. It always has been. We are never required to give more to the fight than we feel we are able. If you have done all that you are able, you have done well, and no one can say otherwise.”

“And my family?”

“They each have their own service to give.”

“I mean…will they be okay? Safe?”

Her small fingers rubbed at his temples, easing a pain he hadn’t even realized was there. “That is…not easy to know.”

He knew the truth…even if Reuel wouldn’t say it. It wouldn’t stop. The war was only beginning. “I sent him away.” _Sammy_

“Yes, I know.”

Dean sighed, feeling like he was scattered over a mile of pavement. “I don’t hate him.” Not really…furious, yes...but never hate.

“He knows.”

Dean hung his head. “Why me? I mean…the demon said it wasn’t meant to be me….even told Sammy it was him…got him to think he could give it up.”

She came around to kneel beside him, her caring face filled with a peace he envied. “Dean…these gifts are given you not by gods or devils…they are not the provenance of any demon, or angel for that matter. We can not affect them…only entice you into using them for one side or the other…or in this case, to use them not at all.”

Dean nodded, though he wasn’t sure he believed it. “Then where do they come from?”

A small smile played about her lips as she shrugged. “Does it matter?” She took a deep breath and Dean was suddenly aware that Reuel was more prominent in her face, like the night he’d given him back the memories. “Dean, these gifts are no different in meaning or origin than any other…whether it is a sport or the ability to cook…beauty, artistic talent…all are part of the human path…all come from within you. You choose how best to manifest them.”

Dean sighed, suddenly tired of the conversation. “I’m going home.” He stood up abruptly, wavering a little and she put a hand on his arm to steady him. “Do you need….a ride…or something?”

She smiled and he sensed the withdrawal of the other…of Reuel. “Sure. We have to stop at the market though and pick up a few things for Kaitlyn.”

He nodded and let her slide an arm around him. They were nearly to the elevator when a familiar voice stopped him. “Hello Dean.”

He turned, his eyes widening a little. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of running into her. “Dr. MacAfferty…you…you remember Jenny.”

She smiled politely enough, but her eyes never left Dean. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Dean.”

“No, you haven’t,” he agreed. “I…I’ve been busy.”

“Are you avoiding me?”

“Maybe.” He shouldn’t bait her that way. He couldn’t sense the demon he was sure had been inside her the last time he saw her. “No. I’m not. I just…took a vacation.”

“Two months of vacation, Dean? That isn’t like you. Are you taking your meds?”

He met her eyes and he knew she would know. It was one of the first things Sam had pointed out to him…how his eyes no longer looked hazed and lost. “That’s no longer your concern, Dr. MacAfferty.”

“Are you seeing a new doctor, Dean?” She seemed genuinely concerned, coming closer.

“Something like that. No offense, Doctor, but I don’t need you right now.”

“I think I’d like to see you, Dean…talk this through.”

He shook his head, his hand in Jenny’s. He could smell his own fear…memories of a similar moment in his head…he’d broken restraints and tried to escape….he was feverish and the new meds weren’t working yet. She’d said the same words, convinced him she wanted to help him, that she’d let him go as soon as she was sure he was okay.

“No. I don’t think so. I’m fine, Dr. MacAfferty. In fact, I’m better than fine. For the first time in years I’m making my own decisions, I’m thinking clearly, I don’t get the dry heaves every night. I still have the nervous twitch in my hand, but that’s getting better. I can taste things. I’m really quite fine.”

Two burly orderlies were coming up the hall behind her and Dean shook his head. “You can’t keep me against my will.”

“You’re going to hurt someone, Dean. Please, let’s just go to my office and talk.”

A gurney near them rattled before Dean clamped down his flare of anger and shook his head. “I have to take my sister home, kiss my wife, hold my son…get on with my life.”

He took a few steps away, drawing Jenny with him.

“I can get a court order, Dean. Have you forcibly committed.”

He nodded. “You could try.”

“Don’t think I won’t. You’ll go away for a long, long time. You may not come back out again. I’m not talking about the psych ward upstairs this time. I’m talking about the facility up north.”

Dean could feel himself thrumming with fear…she was right, of course, this whole thing was just an illusion. It wasn’t real…none of it was real. It would be easier to let go and let it be.

But Jenny’s hand in his...that was real. He was sure of that. The way the gurney and the windows on the offices near him shook with his anger,…he was nearly convinced that was real.

“Dean, you need to calm down.” MacAfferty actually looked afraid. That was something he had never seen.

“I’m calm, Doctor.” Dean swallowed down the fear, clamped down on the anger. He felt Reuel rising up within Jenny behind him, watched Dr. MacAfferty’s eyes go dark and black.

“You’re sick, Dean. You need help.”

“That may be true.” Dean felt Jenny’s arms slide around his waist, felt Reuel’s presence like a pillar of fire at his back.

Dr. MacAfferty’s head twitched and dark eyes locked on Jenny’s. “You shouldn’t interfere.”

“I have been invited.” Reuel said. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

“You made a deal, Dean. My father will not have to keep his end of the bargain if you are breaking yours.”

“Your father already broke his, Junior.” Dean said, focusing his anger specifically on the black of those eyes. “Janet is dead, and twice Jenny has been attacked. Deal’s off.”

The words rolled through him, Latin, ancient, flowing from his tongue as if it were his first language, as if he had harnessed this power his entire life. As he finished the incantation, he felt Reuel’s wings fold around them both, moving backwards and away as Dr. MacAfferty shuddered, convulsed and collapsed, black, inky smoke pouring out of her mouth, nose and ears and vaporizing.

 

Dean was shaking as they left the hospital, Reuel only slightly pulled inside Jenny. “Let me drive.” Reuel/Jenny said as they got to the car and Dean didn’t even hesitate, just handed over the keys.

“What was that?” Dean finally asked as the pulled out on the street.

“I don’t know.”

Dean just looked at the angel inside Jenny. His answer frightened Dean a hell of a lot more than what he had just done.

 

As Jenny ran into the market, Dean dialed his father’s number. “They know. Watch your back. No…I’ll…I’ll call him.” He closed the phone and hesitated. Sam needed to know, but after how he’d sent him away…

Cussing, he dialed the number. It rolled over to voicemail. “Hey, Sam. I—I’m sorry…I’m really…” He sighed into the phone and switched hands, as if that would make this easier. “Look, I got confronted by one of the demons…they know we—I broke the deal. They’ll be coming for you. Watch your back.”

He watched Jenny coming toward them, all grace and beauty and was grateful that she was one member of his family he didn’t have to worry about…not with Reuel…He’d felt that power, that protective strength. He could save his concern for his father and Sam, for Kaitlyn and Daniel.

He was glad when she got back into the car and pointed them home. He hadn’t ever thought of that place as his home until he’d helped move his wife and child into it months before…Now it felt like he never wanted to leave it again.

Kaitlyn was on the porch when they pulled in, her long black hair loose around her shoulders, her smile so bright it nearly hurt him. Feeling her arms fold around him Dean felt safer than he had since he’d left her. “God I missed you,” he whispered into her hair and she held him to her so tight he had trouble breathing, but he wouldn’t tell her…wouldn’t complain…just held to her just as tightly.

“Come on, Daddy…your son needs a bath…and you need a good dinner.”

Dean stepped into the house, over the protections that Sam and Caleb had set, feeling the strength of them. They had sanctified the ground. It was nearly like living in a church. Or a cemetery. Dean stopped at the thought, shaking his head. There were memories of dying here…memories of Jenny and Sam dead.

He turned to Kaitlyn, watched her pick their son up from his crib. He nearly cried when she put him in her arms…to think that despite everything they had somehow done… _this_ …created this beautiful boy…and seeing him for the first time without the haze Dean could see so much more. The light that flowed out of him…it reminded Dean of a summer sunrise. Maybe he wasn’t a complete failure at this family thing. If he could somehow manage to be holding a son in his arms that perfect…maybe he would find a way to fix everything else. Maybe.


End file.
